Playlist
by Chikorita-Trainer1
Summary: Inspired by various sad songs I've found myself listening to that I find relate to Dick losing his memories. Tim takes Damian on a drive and they listen to music and deal with things.


**Playlist**  
Chikorita-Trainer1  
K+

Disclaimer: I don't own Batman, DC comics, or any of the songs by any of the artists I mention in this story.

Author's Note: This story was written a few weeks before Christmas. On the long drives out to relatives' houses, I found myself listening to rather sad songs and associating them with this whole 'Ric Grayson' debacle that's happening in Nightwing comics.

* * *

Grayson. Nightwing. My brother. He's gone.

He's still alive, but his whole life as a vigilante has vanished from his memory

And nobody knows why.

He remembers nothing. Not Father, not Batman, not Robin—nothing. So he doesn't remember me. I'm nothing to him.

And he doesn't even want to remember. He thinks if he was ever Nightwing, well, that's the reason he got shot, so is it even worth remembering? So he's willing to live his life without us, without his family, because it's too painful for him to try to remember.

Does he even know how much that hurts? Did it ever even cross his mind? That maybe, just maybe, his feelings aren't the only ones that matter? That maybe, the people who raised him and took care of him are entitled to happiness, too? That maybe it's not all about him?

Apparently not.

Father carries on, as usual. Nothing really bothers him. Well, that's a lie; he wouldn't be Batman if he weren't bothered. Everything he does is a reaction to bothersome things. I guess what I meant was he never lets it stop him.

And usually, I don't either. But this is different. This is really hard. I'm stuck. I don't know how to move past this, or how to live with this.

I went to talk to Grayson in the hospital, and I cried a little. But it wasn't much, and it didn't help. I feel like I should be sobbing in frustration, but it hasn't happened yet. I'm just always on the edge of a breakdown. You know how that is? Like, you're walking around, just WAITING for the moment to strike when you collapse and start freaking out and screaming, but it just never comes. It's exhausting, waiting like this.

Right now, I'm lying on my side on my bed, just being depressed. Normally, I could be doing all sorts of things with my time. But I just don't feel like it. I can't train, I can't draw, I can't play video games, I can't concentrate on anything.

My phone dings with a text, but I don't answer. I don't care whom it's from or what it says.

About twenty minutes later, there's a knock at my door, and Dra—I mean, Timothy lets himself in.

"Hey," he says softly. I don't turn to look at him or wave or anything. "Are you OK?" Almost in a whisper, he speaks.

"I don't know," I mumble.

"Bruce wants you to come down to the Cave for patrol," he says. I guess that's what that text was.

"I don't feel like it," I mutter.

"Yeah, I don't, either," he admits. He sits down on my bed and strokes my hair. Normally, I'd slap his hand away and yell at him not to touch me, but I don't care right now. I don't care about anything.

"I miss him, too," he says gently. I almost start crying when I hear those words. The corners of my mouth shoot downward and my eyes tear up. I quickly turn my head and bury it in my pillow. But he doesn't judge.

"Fuck patrol. Bruce can handle it," he says. He begins texting, and I assume he's telling Father that neither one of us will be joining him tonight. "Come on, get up." He shakes my shoulder and then tugs on my arm a little. I sit up and wipe my eyes.

"What?" I croak, tears still fresh in my throat.

"Let's…I don't know…let's go for a drive or something."

Again, normally I wouldn't agree to this, but I'm all mixed up and shuffled around today. I don't feel sure about anything, but it's nice to have someone being kind to me. So I get up, straighten my shirt, grab my jacket off the back of a chair, and follow him out to the driveway.

It's sunset. The sky is mostly purple because there are so many clouds, but there are still patches where the clouds part and it's pink. I get into the passenger seat and buckle my seatbelt.

"Where're we going?" I ask.

"I don't know. Anywhere you want," Timothy answers.

"I don't care," I say with a shrug.

Neither one of us says another word. Tim just starts driving west into the sunset. We don't drive through Gotham, per se, we stay on the highway around the city. It goes by much faster. The sun shining on the buildings is a neat sight, and I make a mental note to draw it sometime.

Within fifteen or twenty minutes we're outside the city limits, just driving peacefully down the road.

Tim plugs in his iPhone and tosses the device to me.

"Here, pick something."

I look at his iTunes and browse the collection of artists. I see nothing in particular I recognize, so I scroll Playlists.

He doesn't have a whole lot. In fact, he only has one. It has no title. I open it and scroll through the song titles. Again, nothing I recognize. Then I go back to Library and scroll down, and look under Recently Added. All the artists that were on that playlist have been Recently Added. He made this playlist today. He bought all the music on it today. I start the playlist. Obviously these songs mean something to him, or he wouldn't have compiled them.

The first one on the list is something called Complicated, by Avril Lavigne. Haven't heard of her. The date on the album is 2002, so this is from a while ago.

The song is gentle and easygoing. The lyrics are simple. It appears to be about a boyfriend who habitually pretends to be something he's not. Acts like, claims to be someone he's not.

It's catchy, I'll admit. Definitely a teenage girl song. Seems odd that Timothy would like it.

_I like you the way you are, too, Grayson._

The next one that comes up is called Freaking Me Out by Simple Plan. It's darker, more aggressive and confrontative than the last song. The singer is talking about how someone he knew appears to have lost their mind and is acting like a totally different person. Though rather than coaxing them to return, like the previous song, this singer is clearly angry. I like this song.

_Snap out of it, Grayson. Wake up._

I'm surprised that the next song on the playlist is Taylor Swift. She's an accomplished artist, certainly, but it's still a little weird that Timothy would purchase her music. She IS more palatable to girls, is she not? But this song is called Haunted. I can almost hear the tears in her voice as she sings about breaking up with someone who doesn't even give her an explanation. The abandonment. The abruptness. The loss. The feeling of helplessness. I feel my own heart clench up and my eyes water. I turn away from the road in front of us and lean my head to the side, looking out the window.

The sun is setting faster now. It's almost dark out. We still haven't even discussed a destination. I don't know what Timothy is planning. But it feels good to just ride in the car and listen to music.

After the song is over, I feel a little more composed, and turn back to facing forward. I glance over at Timothy. He looks deep in thought. His hand rests on the stick shift, and I place my hand over his. He doesn't look at me. He just turns his hand over so he can clutch my palm in his. He squeezes, and I squeeze back.

"You want to stop somewhere and eat?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say. We separate our hands. Soon enough, the next song starts. It's called Don't Speak by No Doubt. I can tell by the first chords that it's going to be intense.

_I really feel that I'm losing my best friend._

Timothy is really into this song, as he appears to be air-drumming a little on the steering wheel with his fingers. And the drums in this song are pretty good.

I know why he made this playlist. Every song illustrates how we're both feeling about Grayson losing his memories. Who would have thought it could hurt so much? I mean, sure, we're all thinking about Grayson and how hard it must be for him, to have this huge gap in his life, but what about us? Is he even thinking about us and how painful this is? How could he? As far as he knows, he's never met us, and we don't even exist.

We pull up into the parking lot of a small, roadside diner called The Golden Nugget. Looks like one of those places that's open late so people can get some cheap carbs to balance out the alcohol after they go out drinking.

The food probably won't be that good, but the whole concept is that it's _familiar._ Comfort food, as they say.

"This look alright to you?" Timothy asks.

"Yeah, this is fine," I say. We get out of the car and go in. Tim holds the door for me. The sign inside says that we can sit wherever we please. Tim stands behind me. I think he expects me to choose. I like booths. They feel more private and secure. So I choose a booth, and we sit down.

"Is this a place you used to come to with Grayson a lot?" I ask as I open a menu.

"Nope. Never been here before," Tim answers. He orders a coffee and I stick with water. "This can be our place, if you want."

I wasn't expecting that. But a new place to create new memories sounds nice.

"Has this ever happened to you?" I ask.

"No. I've never forgotten anyone," he answers. "But I know if I ever did, Dick wouldn't give up on me. He'd do everything he could to bring me back."

"I know," I say. "But he doesn't even want our help."

"He's just scared," Tim says. "And he has every reason to be. I can't even imagine what it must be like to forget most of your teenage years and all of your adult life, and then to have the first thing be shown to you is a video of yourself being shot."

"True," I admit. Neither of us speaks for a few seconds, so I change the subject. "I guess I'll get strawberry pancakes and a side of bacon."

"Cool. I'm going to have chicken soup."

We order and hand the menus back to the waitress. Tim didn't put any cream in his coffee, but I notice the pile of little cups of cream off to the side of the table by the wall. I pick one up and read the label. No reason, I'm just bored.

Tim notices and smiles. "When I was little, I used to like to stack these up like a pyramid," he tells me. "If there were enough to make a base of four, then three, then two and then one at the top."

I smile. I know he's just trying to relate to me. He's trying to make this a pleasant experience, so that I don't think too much about Grayson. He's trying, I know he is.

Our food comes, and we don't talk while we eat. I'm not sure why, but I'm starting to feel better. Even though nothing has changed. We'll come home and Grayson still won't remember us. Or Father. Or anything.

But just the same, I feel good. Better than I did when I was lying on my bed, being depressed.

Hey pays with his debit card, writes a tip on the receipt, and we both take turns using the washroom before going back out to his car. It's dark out now. We're far enough outside the city for there to be stars visible in the sky. Not very many, but more than you can see in Gotham, that's for sure.

"Um," I begin softly as he opens the driver's side door. "Can we just, like, sit in the back seat for a bit?" I ask. I know it's a weird request, and I can hear the tears in my voice. But Timothy doesn't judge. He just closes the front door and opens the back, and he and I get into the back seat. I think he knows what's coming.

I lean forward, head in hands, and just start sobbing. I can't stand this. I just keep thinking about what my life is going to be like without Grayson, and it's miserable. And then I remember that I've known him for the shortest amount of time, and how much worse it must be for Father and everyone else and that makes me feel even worse and I cry even harder. I feel Timothy's hand rubbing my back, and I turn and bury my face in his chest and wrap my arms around him. He hugs me tight and doesn't say a word. He just holds me.

"_When is he coming back?"_ I cry. _"When will he remember?"_

"_It's OK,"_ he whispers to me. He kisses the side of my head just above my ear_. "Everything's going to be fine."_

"_Please make it stop,"_ I cry. _"Make the pain stop."_ Wow. I sound ridiculous. That was seriously one of the most absurdly hysterical things I've ever heard, and it came out of MY MOUTH. But Timothy doesn't laugh or mock me. He just squeezes me tighter.

"_I'm here, Dami,"_ he whispers. I think I can almost hear him crying, too. But I'm sure he's trying to be strong for me. _"I'll always be with you. I love you."_

I'm not really comfortable saying "I love you, too," but I'm sure he knows. I mean, I'm here, hugging him, crying with him, aren't I?

I take a deep breath and sigh, finally calming down. I gently extract myself from his grasp and sit back, and wipe my eyes.

"Can we go home, now?" I ask.

"Mm-hmm."

We both get out of the back seat and get back in the front, and he starts us on our journey back to Gotham.

"I like your music," I say. He grins and tosses me the plugged-in iPhone again.

"Pick whatever you want," he says.

* * *

THE END  
Please review, thanks.


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